


The Long Way Home

by Yggdrastiles (hauntedsilences)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Derek Deserves Nice Things, Feelings, Fix-It, Hand Jobs, M/M, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedsilences/pseuds/Yggdrastiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d promised himself that he’d stay away from Beacon Hills. But there's always been one person that would bring him back, whether or not he wanted to admit it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick thing I typed up at work (I know, I should probably actually be doing work, but whatevs). I'm not sure at the difference between Mature and Explicit. So I'm going with Explicit to be on the safe side? Anyone wanna clue me in, that'd be great ♥
> 
> All mistakes are my own, feel free to point them out :D

He’d promised himself that he’d stay away. Leaving Beacon Hills behind was both the hardest and easiest thing he’d ever done. However, he knew now that the place was toxic. He felt like he couldn’t breathe when he was there, like the trees were closing in on him, suffocating him. So he traveled for a while. He liked the openness of the Southwest, but the heat was stifling and he couldn’t stand it for long.

He liked the ocean. It was just the right amount of freedom and familiarity. The forest was several miles away from the rolling hills of the coast, close enough if he craved trees, but far enough that it gave him a choice. And really, isn’t that what he had wanted all along? A choice. The ability to choose for himself, to make decisions. For the first time since the fire, it felt like he had control over his life, rather than just being pulled along the riptide, struggling to keep his head above water. He was finally swimming, no, surfing through life, rather than drowning. It was new, it was exhilarating...it was a little bit scary if he was honest with himself. The smell of salt and sea had replaced the ash that had clogged his nose for so many years, giving him, finally, a much-needed breath of fresh air. 

And so, given that he was feeling better than he had in years, Derek had promised himself for the sake of his own sanity, never to return to Beacon Hills. It seemed ironic, then, in a way, that a few months after making his resolution, that his phone had rung, lighting up with a name he thought he’d never see again. Stiles. 

“Hello?” He answered, only to be met with a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob. 

“Sorry. I don’t know why I called. I’ll just...I’ll just go.” 

“What happened?” Derek asked, completely forgoing the “are you okay” since it was obvious he wasn’t. 

“I can’t.” He said softly, almost a whisper. Derek heard him clear his throat and try again, “I thought I could fix it.” He confessed. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“What can I do?” Derek asks, surprising himself with how much he means that, how much he truly would like to help if he’s able to. 

“I killed him.” Stiles says in lieu of an answer, and Derek sucks in a breath. He’s uncomfortably familiar with this part. Stiles’ voice is the voice of someone who needs to be reassured. The voice of someone double-guessing themselves. The voice of someone who took a life, and is having a hard time seeing themselves as anything less than a monster. Derek’s been there. 

And that’s how Derek finds himself driving back to the one place he’d swore he’d never see again. It wouldn’t be the first time that life has made him a hypocrite.

The town is quiet when he gets there at three in the morning. Nothing looks different at first glance, but there’s an electricity in the air that puts Derek on edge and he wonders, not for the first time, if he’s making a terrible mistake coming back. 

But the memory of Stiles’ voice on the phone spurs him forward, determined to see this through to the end. He owes it to Stiles to see this through to the end. Of course, there’s the small part where Stiles doesn’t actually know he’s coming. Which. Okay, maybe he should have mentioned that to him. Too late now, though. Derek knows where he’ll be.

He parks down the street and climbs through the window, his movements familiar, practiced. He tries not to read too much into that. He fails. Stiles is awake, and doesn’t look terribly surprised to see him. Has he gotten that predictable? 

“Hey Sourwolf.” He says, and though the words are familiar, the tone isn’t. It’s not a tone he’d ever associate with Stiles. It’s cold and lifeless. Tired, like he’s aged decades since they spoke on the phone, not ten hours ago. 

Derek feels awkward suddenly, like the walls of the room are starting to close in around him. He shouldn’t have come. Stiles doesn’t need him here, he doesn’t-

“Derek?” Comes his voice, softer, almost tinged with worry. For him? No, that’s wrong, it’s backwards. Derek’s worried for Stiles, not the other way around. Derek takes a step forward, sits in the desk chair, sits forward with his hands clasped loosely between his knees. 

“Tell me.” It’s not a command, but a plea. Pain shoots across Stiles’ face, but he nods once, curtly. He tells Derek in stilted words and whispers. Tells him how he had no choice, but corrects himself, saying everyone has a choice. He tells him how no one will look him in the eye anymore. How even his own father won’t look at him anymore, let alone speak to him. He tells him how he’s all alone now, how everything he’s done for the pack was never appreciated and there’s no point. Maybe there never was. 

Derek sits and listens, nodding when appropriate and making small noises of acknowledgement. Laura used to say he was a good listener. 

When Stiles is done, tears he hasn’t noticed running down his face, he says that no one trusts him anymore. They look at him like he’s the enemy. Like any day now, he’s going to snap. 

“I trust you.” Derek says, simply. Stiles doesn’t argue. Derek’s never looked more sincere than he has right now, and Stiles can’t think of a single thing to say that would express how much those three words mean to him right now. He sobs. 

Derek moves to sit on the bed next to him and puts his arm around him. Comfort is instinctual. Derek tugs him close, and Stiles buries his face in Derek’s shirt. Misery loves company, although it’s been a very long time now since Derek has felt miserable. He can still offer his company though. 

Stiles’ breaths even out, and Derek can smell the shame pouring off of him in waves. It’s a thick, cloying scent and Derek doesn’t like it.

“Don’t.” He warns, making Stiles look up at him questioningly, eyes still watery and red. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Not with me.” Stiles nods slowly, even if he doesn’t seem to believe him fully. 

“I missed you.” He says, throat raspy from crying. 

“I missed you too.” Derek says, and holds him closer. 

At some point they rearrange themselves on the bed, holding on to each other, face to face, legs tangled together. Stiles buries his face in Derek’s neck, and Derek buries his in his hair. It’s the best sleep either of them have gotten in a long time. 

Derek thought that the light of day would make things awkward, and he’s surprised when it doesn’t. Stiles doesn’t pull away immediately, like Derek had expected. No, he opens his eyes, looks around, yawns, declares it’s too early and goes back to sleep. It’s very endearing. 

Derek stays awake and listens for telltale footsteps on the stairs. They never come. 

Eventually they roll out of bed and down to the kitchen where they eat sandwiches for breakfast. 

“Dad’s been sleeping at the station.” Stiles says without prompting. “He says there’s a big case on right now, but I know he’s lying. He hasn’t been home in a week.” 

The words are said matter-of-factly, but Derek hears the underlying hurt as if it had been shouted. 

They spend the day watching movies and sitting mostly in silence. Stiles doesn’t interrupt the movie once, and if Derek hadn’t known Stiles was in a bad place, that alone would have been a major indication. 

The sun goes down and Derek wonders if he should stay. He looks at Stiles for direction, but Stiles looks just as undecided as he does. 

So Derek finally gets up the nerve to ask what he’d been thinking of asking even since before he left. He thinks that he’s in a much better place to handle the rejection than he would have been months ago, but if he doesn’t ask, he’ll hate himself even more than he already does. 

“Want to go to the beach?”

 

\-------

 

It’s been a week and it’s still surreal to see Stiles in his house, in his sanctuary, away from everything else. It’s too good to be true. He only has the one bed, and Stiles doesn’t mind sharing. Nothing’s happened, and Derek isn’t sure if he’d want to ruin the good thing they have going by trying to make it into something...more. 

Derek isn’t sure if he’s emotionally stable enough to start a relationship, let alone a casual dalliance. Derek’s not the casual kind of guy. His sisters used to make fun of him for wishing for a fairytale ending. “Wolves never save princesses, Derek. We’re what princesses are rescued from” they used to tell him. For some reason it always made him want to cry. He didn’t, though. He didn’t need to give his sisters any more ammunition to tease him. 

And Stiles...well. He deserved much better. But Derek wasn’t about to run him away, oh no. He might not want to risk making the first move, but there was no way he was selfless enough to make Stiles leave. No. He would selfishly hang on to every word, every moment, every touch Stiles would give him. He drank it all in like a man wandering the desert. Stiles didn’t need to know, though. 

Of course, Derek should have known that it was foolish to assume that Stiles would ever be okay with keeping things as they were. No, Stiles pushed boundaries, it’s what he did. It was a fundamental part of him that would likely never change. Derek should have known better, really. 

Another fundamental part of Stiles? He was about as subtle as an elephant to the face. 

Derek was chopping vegetables for the stir-fry he was making for dinner. He was very concentrated. Very. Stiles was sitting on a chair at the bar watching him. 

“Y’know what? We should make out.” 

Those vegetables had to be tossed out since they were covered in blood where Derek sliced his finger open. The brat had the gall to snicker at him. And then tease him for blushing. It wasn’t Derek’s fault he had zero control over the bloodflow to his ears. Shut up. 

Of course, Derek wrote it off as a one-time throwaway comment, the kind that Stiles made just for shock value. Which hey, that was something that happened pretty frequently. So what happened next was in no way Derek’s fault. (Or rather, totally was, from Stiles’ perspective, who claims it was because Derek was being deliberately obtuse.)

Which is how Derek found himself tackled and straddled hours later while he was sitting innocently on the couch, minding his own business, reading a book. Or at least he was until he received a lapful of Stiles. Not that he was complaining, mind. But the Stiles in question took the opportunity to watch Derek’s expression go from deer-in-the-headlights to confused arousal. Which, bingo. 

“Stiles?” He asked, feeling he should put up at least a token protest, even though his hands had already drifted to Stiles’ hips, anchoring him. Stiles, of course, didn’t answer, just gave him a shy smirk as he lifted his hands to stroke through his beard. Derek shivered involuntarily. 

“You’re so soft...” Stiles whispered reverently, and Derek blinked up at him, uncomprehending. 

“Your sweaters are soft, your hair is soft, your sweatpants are soft...” Stiles listed off, continuing to ramble, but Derek couldn’t pay attention, too caught up in staring at the way Stiles’ eyelashes brushed his cheeks with every blink, only to reveal beautiful brown eyes when they opened. 

Stiles didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t paying attention, though. He cupped Derek’s jaw with one hand to bring his attention back, thumb smoothing over his lips, and what could Derek do but part his lips? What could he do but part his lips and draw that thumb inside his mouth and suck softly?

Stiles’ breath hitched as flavor burst across Derek’s tongue. Stiles tasted like salt, mostly, but in the moment, Derek couldn’t think of a single better thing for Stiles to taste like. 

It wasn’t long before Stiles got impatient, as he was wont to do, and slid his thumb out of Derek’s mouth, pressing their lips together urgently, and what could Derek do but return the kiss?

Stiles kissed like he did everything else-- with frantic enthusiasm. And a tad bit of clumsiness, if Derek was being completely honest with himself. But it was fine. No, it was more than fine. The wet slide of Stiles’ mouth against his was better than anything he could have imagined. Not that he had ever imagined kissing Stiles. Shut up. 

Stiles’ fingers tangled in his hair as he arched against him, and Derek tightened his hands on Stiles’ thighs, pleased with himself when he heard Stiles’ answering moan. Stiles nipped at his lips, sucked on his tongue, and licked into his mouth with reckless abandon, like he had something to prove, although Derek wasn’t sure what. But he responded in kind, moaning into their kisses and tugging Stiles firmly against him, wanting to feel the lean lines of his body against his own. 

Stiles broke the kiss with a gasp, panting and looking at him with flushed adoration before dropping to Derek’s neck, sucking and biting like he’d be able to leave a lasting mark. In fact, if there wasn’t a mark, it certainly wouldn’t be for lack of trying. Derek shuddered in pleasure, his neck arching, head resting on the back of the couch, fully submitting to Stiles and the pleasure he was causing. 

Stiles, brilliant, perfect Stiles, understood the full implications of his actions, and he pulled back with wide eyes as if to ask ‘are you sure?’” and that alone, Stiles seeking his consent, was nearly enough for Derek to lose his mind.

“Please...” He whispered, keeping his neck bared and whimpering softly when Stiles obliged him. Stiles practically used his neck as a chew toy, but Derek didn’t mind, and if sometimes Stiles was a little too enthusiastic and drew blood? That was fine, because as soon as he did, he smoothed over it with his tongue, and Derek loved the wet heat that closed over his neck and jaw.

It wasn’t until Stiles very pointedly rubbed himself against Derek that he realized that they were both very much aroused, and as soon as Derek acknowledged it, it was as if a dam had been broken. He couldn’t stop himself from thrusting up against Stiles, and Stiles eagerly ground down on him in response. 

Stiles was the one who had the presence of mind to break away and look at him very seriously, demanding his attention as he asked, “Is this okay?” and Derek nodded, but Stiles just shook his head. 

“Nah, I’m gonna need real words this time, big guy. I don’t want you to say yes just because I want to, alright?” He said, looking at him earnestly. Derek honestly had no idea what to say. He looked away, not able to straighten out his thoughts with Stiles sitting in his lap, looking like _that_. 

Of course, Stiles misinterprets this, trying to climb off of Derek, but he tightens his grip on his hips. “Wait.” He pleads quietly. “Need to think.” He elaborates, taking in a shaky breath. Stiles nods encouragingly, giving him time. 

What did Derek want? Now there was a question rarely asked. He took a moment to really think about it. He wanted Stiles, that was for sure, but how far would he be able to take this? How far did he want to? 

“I don’t...” He started, “...I don’t do casual.” He said quietly, looking back at Stiles, who nodded, but looked confused. 

“But what about Braeden...?” He asked, even though he looked like it pained him to bring her up at all. But, fair enough. Derek shook his head. “Casual hurts.” He explained. “I can’t...not anymore.” And Stiles looked like this made a lot more sense because he nodded vigorously in a way that was almost comical. 

“Okay, not casual. I can do that. I mean, if you want to. I kind of have wanted this for a while, but I’d rather not be casual, either.” He agreed, smoothing his hands down Derek’s chest, rubbing in soothing spirals. 

“I don’t know how...” Derek admitted. “Relationships...I...” He trailed off, shaking his head. 

“Hey, I don’t either, really.” Stiles offered. “My one relationship was with a girl who, mentally, was still what like, eight years old? I mean, I can’t really trust that she’s really giving consent, you know?” Stiles said with a sigh. “But hey, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want. I’d be cool with cuddling and kisses.” Stiles offered smiling hopefully. 

Derek smiled shyly and placed one hand over Stiles’ where it lay on his chest. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He admitted. “But I’d like to try. With you.” He said, and Stiles’ answering grin could probably have been seen from space. 

“Awesome! Yeah, that’s so great!” He enthused, then paused and looked down at his own erection. “So uh, should I just go take care of this...?” He asked, gesturing someplace vaguely behind him. 

Derek frowned and shook his head, “No, come here.” He insisted, tugging Stiles close and grinding them together again. Derek hadn’t really put much thought into how he wanted this to go, and he didn’t really care how they got off, exactly, as long as they both did. Stiles, however, seemed to have thought it out far more. 

“No, no, here, lie down.” Stiles urged, getting off of Derek and making him lie down on the couch. He complied, but raised an eyebrow, and Stiles blushed in reaction. “I wanna suck you off first.” He explained, and if Derek hadn’t been hard already, he certainly would have been now. 

“You sure?” He choked out even as Stiles climbed over his legs and tugged his sweatpants down to his thighs. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. Stiles nodded, “Oh yeah, I’ve been thinking about this for years.” He revealed, and suddenly Derek felt a little out of his depth. How long, exactly, had Stiles been thinking about it? Since they met? He was a little ashamed at the way his cock twitched at the thought. 

But then Stiles gripped the shaft and there was no more thinking. No more thinking as he licked a stripe from base to tip, dipping his tongue into the slit to collect the moisture there before moving on to suck lightly on the head. Stiles looked up at him with wide doe eyes as he began to bob up and down and it was all Derek could do not to come on the spot. “Oh god...” He bit out, wanting to raise his legs, spread them, but trapped by his sweatpants. 

He squirmed, pleasure wracking his senses as he struggled to gain enough coherence to tell Stiles what he wanted. Stiles, bless his heart, seemed to understand that Derek was having trouble communicating (as per usual, really), and paused, gripping the base as he pulled off with an obscene pop. “What’s up?” He asked and Derek shoved at his sweatpants, trying to wiggle out of them. Stiles grinned but got the message, stripping his lower half completely. “Better?” He asked, and Derek nodded, hooking one leg over the back of the couch and letting the other dangle on the floor, spreading himself for Stiles, who palmed the front of his pants at the sight. 

“Fuck, Derek. You’re so hot, you know that? So perfect, look at you....so eager and ready for me...” he babbled, smiling when the head of Derek’s cock leaked with every praise. Stiles wasted no more time and dropped back down, taking Derek back into his mouth, seeing how far down he could take him. Derek moaned loudly when the head bumped up against Stiles’ throat, and gasped a choked-off, broken sound when Stiles managed to deepthroat him for a couple seconds, just long enough to swallow around him a couple times before having to pull off to cough. “Wanna get better at that, Der...” Stiles commented. “Maybe one day you’ll be able to hold me down and fuck my mouth.”

Stiles’ hands were wandering. When they weren’t on his cock, Stiles played with his balls, rolling them between his fingers and his thumb, tugging on them gently and then continuing on his explorations. He pressed against the skin behind his balls after a particularly long suck, and Derek tensed, gasping for breath. He was right on the edge, but he needed something to push him over. Stiles, of course, had an excellent idea. 

He sucked two fingers into his mouth, getting them nice and wet before going back to Derek’s dick. He teased behind Derek’s balls, searching for his hole, which he found, puckered and twitching against his touch. Derek’s breath caught and his fingers found Stiles’ hair, tugging lightly. Determined, Stiles worked just the tips of his two fingers in, stopping when the resistance was too much. But it was enough, the light stretch gave Derek something to clench down hard on when he finally let go and came with a shout (Stiles would say it was more of a howl, really). 

Stiles struggled to swallow it all, but it took him by surprise, and some spilled out of the corners of his mouth. He kept sucking lightly, working Derek through the aftershocks and holding him there in his mouth as he felt him soften. Stiles didn’t really want to let him slide out of his mouth, but Derek’s whimpers of overstimulation had him pulling off and slipping his fingers out of his hole. 

Stiles climbed up his body, resting on Derek’s chest, “Hey...you alright?” He asked, when he noticed the werewolf was trembling slightly. Derek opened his eyes to look at him, and he looked more open and vulnerable than Stiles had ever seen him. It just about broke his heart. 

“I’m fine.” Derek tried, but one look from Stiles had him elaborating, “That was...intense. I’m not used to it.” He explained. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever had sex with anyone he’d actually cared about as much as he cared for Stiles. He didn’t think he had. “You’re still hard.” He commented, having forgotten. Stiles shrugged, “Yeah, but it’s alright, we can just lie here for a little whi-- or you can stick your hand down my pants, yup, that works too, oh my god what are you doing to me?!” 

Derek grinned, having tugged Stiles up so he could fit his hand down the waistband. There was something absolutely filthy about receiving a handjob with his sweatpants still on, or at least that’s what Stiles thought as Derek stroked him perfectly. “Oh yes, yes, just like that. Oh you’re so good to me, so good.” He praised, noting that Derek hummed as if he was pleased with himself, so how could Stiles possibly stop? “You know just how to touch me, fuck, I never want anybody else, Der, you’re it for me. You’re so sexy, but also so adorable, like the cutest of puppies oh my god, yes, fuck, you’re such a good boy, so good, oh god...” Stiles babbled as he got closer. As a perpetually horny teenager, it didn’t take long before he was bucking into Derek’s hand frantically, and then coming with groan that he buried in the crook of Derek’s neck. Derek stroked him through it, but removed his hand afterwards so he could hold Stiles close. 

It was quiet for a few moments while they both got their breaths back before Derek asked in a very, very small voice. “I’m a good boy...?” Like the thought had never occurred to him. Stiles squeezed him tightly, “You are. You’re the best.” He affirmed. 

Derek wasn’t sure what to do with this information, or the fact that hearing those words settled something deep within him. With anybody else, he’d have been afraid that the mocking and the teasing were coming next. The backhanded compliments, and the cold smiles. Not with Stiles, though. Stiles would never. No, he was coming to realize that maybe, just maybe, Stiles was just as broken as he was. Maybe in different ways, but broken just the same. And maybe they didn’t have to be whole. Maybe they could just be broken together, their bits and pieces intermingling until you couldn’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Derek found that he was alright with that idea. 

He tilted his head to look out the glass door that led to the patio and the beach and watched the afternoon sunlight filter in. It had taken him a while, but at the end, it felt like he was finally home. Stiles was home. He thinks that maybe he’s always known this, but sometimes you have to take the long way home in order to appreciate it more once you’re there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I totally wasn't going to write more for this, but then I thought of this lil scene right here, and I couldn't help it. So...yeah.   
> I actually wrote this for the Sunday Funday part of Sterek Week 2015. I'll be posting more fics all week on Tumblr and then I'll stick them here when I get the chance.  
> In the meantime, you can totally look for my stuff on [Tumblr](yggdrastiles.tumblr.com)

This is a stupid idea, Derek is convinced. It’s stupid, reckless, but it doesn’t really seem that way, given the events of the last 24 hours. But.

Stiles had dragged him outside and yeah, it was definitely past midnight, but Derek was kind of keyed-up because of the full moon, and Stiles was keyed-up because he’s Stiles. Which is how they found themselves walking along the beach at midnight, in October…so it’s freezing.

They have their pants rolled up, and they’re walking completely barefoot (which might not have been such a good idea, but it’s a private beach, so it’s pretty clean), and they’re both very cold, despite the hoodies that they both are wearing (Derek seemed to have collected an interesting amount of them since leaving Beacon Hills).

But Stiles’ hand is curled around his own, and somehow that alone makes the moment perfect. So when Stiles says, “Let’s go dip our feet in the water!” Derek shrugs, and before long they’re both shivering even harder than before, but it’s a good feeling. It’s like a risk without consequence. Sure, they’re cold, but for once the adrenaline isn’t coming with a life-or-death situation. And for once, Derek is actually able to enjoy the rush that it gives him. The adrenaline used to make him feel sick. Rather than exciting, it made him want to vomit.

But Stiles is there, and he smells _happy_ , and how long has it been since Derek smelled him happy? Stiles starts to urge him forward, since the waves aren’t reaching as far as they were a few moments ago. So they do, they scoot forward cautiously, careful not to go too far too fast, and isn’t that just the perfect metaphor for their lives?

Stiles shrieks happily when they get close enough for the water to lap at his ankles again and Derek can’t take his eyes away. Stiles looks so carefree that Derek envies him, but is also so grateful that he’s still able to feel such joy, that Beacon Hills hasn’t managed to steal it all away yet.

Stiles turns his head to glance at him, and for a moment Derek is embarrassed to have been caught staring, and he averts his eyes. But then Stiles is right there, a gentle hand on his cheek, urging him to look at him. He does and he blushes, overcome by the gentleness he sees in Stiles’ expression. Stiles is so perfect, so lovely, and Derek really doesn’t feel worthy.

Stiles brings them closer to speak in his hear because the ocean is loud, and right now Derek can’t tell the difference between the ocean and the blood rushing in his ears.

But Stiles moves closer still, to wrap his arms around Stiles. “I love you, Derek.” He whispers, and Derek whimpers, pulling him closer, flush with his own body. He didn’t think that he’d be ready to say those words ever again, but now, standing here with Stiles and hearing him speak those words made him realize that not only did he feel the same, (let’s be honest here, he totally knew that for a while) but he also felt ready, felt like he needed to, no, like he _wanted_ to say those words back.

“I love you too.” He confessed, kissing Stiles lightly on the cheek. Stiles grinned at him and opened his mouth to say something when—

A wave, much larger than they’d been expecting came rolling in, drenching them in water up to their thighs.

“Oh. My. God. Oh my god!” Stiles yelled, jumping backwards. “Derek…” He whined.

“What?” Derek growled, stalking out of the water, teeth chattering, despite being a werewolf. He vaguely registered Stiles following him back towards the house.

“That was so great!” He exclaimed. “Our perfect moment was totally just ruined by a WAVE. A _wave_ , Derek. Now that. That’s a story for the grandkids, right there.” He chuckled.

Derek froze in his steps. Grandkids? Children? He turned around, a question clear in his eyes. Stiles’ own eyes were large and panicked. “Uh, shit. I mean…” He tried to backtrack, but Derek cut him off. “Do you mean it?” He asked, looking small and vulnerable, standing there in the moonlight with a hoodie and soaked pants, still rolled up at the ankle to expose delicate ankles and pale feet.

Stiles took a shaky breath, but nodded. “Yeah. I mean, if you want that. With me.” He said quietly. “I can’t really imagine a future for myself that you’re not in too.” He admitted.

Derek blinked a couple times as he processed this. What did he want? Was he ready for this? “I…I’d like that.” He agreed. “Not really sure about the kids part, to be honest, but…I’d like to grow old with you.” He said softly, barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Stiles shrugged, “Hey, works for me. I’m not sure I’d ever want to raise kids either. But hey, if they house ever gets too quiet, (which, how, I’m living there) we can always adopt a horde of puppies.”

Derek thinks that’s just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](yggdrastiles.tumblr.com)


End file.
